Heroics
by Nyirria
Summary: John gets hurt getting supplies with the group, but fortunately, Nate's got a medkit and knowledge in cleaning cuts and treating wounds. It's just that the Brit doesn't like his attempts on being the hero.


John gave off a painful yelp, and he rose his free and unharmed hand to cover his mouth. A single yell or shout could attract an unwanted horde of Walkers, or worse yet, the Infected. Those things ran like the wind, compared to a mere walking pace. John watched from teary eyes as the blond Brit who was fussing over him carefully bandaged his arm wound, a medkit was set near his side.

"You and your heroics…that did you a whole lot of good, didn't it?" asked the blond with a lot of irritation, a scowl was plastered onto his lips, the skin of his forehead wrinkling. "I'm down to my last kit, _thank you very much_," he said, tightening the bandage so that it would give John a bit of sudden pain.

John squeezed his eyes shut to try and dull out the pain, but the hurting soon enough disappeared and with it came a sense of numbness, and he opened his eyes to find the Brit tossing the empty first aid kit into a fly and rat-infested trash can.

"Well my heroics did practically save you and the others, Nathan."

Nathan looked at the Australian with an exasperated expression and John cracked a smug grin because he knew the Englishman did **not** like to be addressed with his actual name. He liked to be called "Nate", but that didn't stop John or Logan from trying to piss him off. Even Purna decided to join the bit, but she only did so because she was older, and treated Nathan like a little brother.

"_Practically_, Morgan. Your heroics did not entirely save us, Purna got hit by an Infected from behind, Logan nearly got stomped by a Ram, Sam got a tad too close to a Suicider, and I got backhanded by a mere Thug," Nate sighed, and John noticed the darkening purple bruise on his right cheek, just below his eye. "The shit nearly got a direct hit on my eye."

John grimaced and rose his hand, attempting to stroke his thumb against the blackening cheekbone. His hand got slapped away quite quickly, and Nate swiftly turned around, readying two machetes in either of his hands. He looked over his shoulder at the staring Aussie and chuckled. "You coming? Or are you just going to stay there?"

John tried to stifle a grin but jogged up to the Brit, his right hand clutching his left arm, which was like a useless, hanging limb at the moment. He was grateful that the group he'd stumbled upon had a skilled member who's adept at fighting for survival and cleaning up and treating the injured. Nate may be a bit of a mother hen at times, despite his part as the youngest of the group, but he's a great mate to be with in an apocalyptic situation like this, John's learned from the others, as well as personal experience.

"Where are the others?" John asked, grabbing a single cleaver from the ground. If he couldn't use his left fist, then he should use a reliable weapon. "Are they heading back to camp or…?"

Nate gripped the two blades firmer and nodded. "They're heading back to bring the other survivors the supplies we've managed to gather, as we are not risking the stuff we've worked so hard to acquire with getting far too injured to trek back or even die. But I'm not returning just yet, if you want, you could jog to meet back up with them, go back to the camp, get some rest, eat some food, and _let that wound heal up._

"I'll be back soon so I can clean that cut more thoroughly, and apply some fresh, new bandages. Hopefully, I can find some medicine. Medicated powder would be such a lifesaver in this disastrous situation we're all in," Nate said, rolling his head to relieve it of its stiffness.

John considered returning back to the camp for some nice, cool water, but decided against it, as he could prove himself as an actual hero by protecting Nathan while he searched for more useful supplies. "Nah, I'll pass. I'll join you in your supply search."

Nate took a good look at John, narrowed his eyes briefly but shook his head. "Do what you like," he said as the two of them rounded a corner. A large group of undead lay at the end of the long street, and a few Infected were already emitting the ear-deafening cries that they made when they spotted prey. "Oh, great," Nate sighed, as he rose his blades so that they almost crossed over each other, "they've thrown a surprise party just for us."

John sighed and let go of his bandaged arm, taking aim of one of the Infected who were rushing down to them. "These fuckwits really know how to throw parties, don't they? Bringing with them the whole neighborhood," John exclaimed, taking note of the two Thugs lost in the crowd of Walkers.

"Got that right," Nate said, before meeting two Infected halfway, swinging his machetes with deadly precision. A blade maimed the torso of one of the damned runners, and the other cut the arm of his companion right off, sending it flying somewhere in the street. "Infected are weak, but quick. Don't let them surround you!"

John grunted in response and aimed the cleaver at the sprinting Infected's neck, throwing the blade quickly so he could deal with the others coming. The knife punctured its neck right through its Adam's apple, it cried with a high pitch before dropping onto the ground, spazzing out a bit before going still.

John smirked in satisfaction before he ducked as another Infected sprang at him, and he caught the turned woman in his grasp before throwing her onto the ground, snapping her neck efficiently.

"Never knew you had a thing for breaking necks," Nate commented, as he charged towards the mob of Walkers, his armed hands ready for chopping and hacking. "Just make sure you don't aim at mine!"

"Wouldn't count on a promise if I were you!" John replied before following the Brit into the action, after retrieving his thrown cleaver and grabbing a lead pipe, of course. "I have a soft-spot for necks!"

Nate chuckled as he took down Walker after Walker alongside the former soldier. A Thug took the chance to sneak up behind Nate while he was struggling to push off the Walker that clung to him with a grip, and it swung its flimsy yet meaty arms at him. Nate barely heard the roar of the creature behind him and he crouched, the Walker stumbling right into the Thug's swings.

"Nice move," John said as he pulled Nate from underneath the two zombies with his good arm. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

Nate simply shrugged and threw his dual machetes as the lone Suicider that seemed to appear out of nowhere, or perhaps the bushes. John tackled Nate onto the ground before the explosion of the Suicider blew them up like it did with its bits flying in the air. A few pieces came from the now dead zombies that were in the Suicider's close proximity, including the meaty Thug and the clingy Walker.

Nate blinked the dust out of his eyes and his gaze landed on the Australian on top of him. John looked down at Nate and he flashed him a smug smile before getting off him, offering a hand to help the younger man up. "Who's the man with all the heroics now, eh?"

The Brit laughed before taking the proffered helping hand, gripping firmly until he was steady on his feet again. "That was pure instinct, no heroics involved, Morgan."

John shook his head at Nate before he walked up to the dead Suicider, grabbing the machetes that were nicely stuck in between the bones of its spine. "Yeah? Keep telling yourself that," he said, handing the two weapons back to their established owner. "You're just as bad as me."

Nate took the blades with a smile before giving John a playful shove, earning himself an "_Oi!_" from the Aussie. He wiped his machetes with a faded rag, staining the pale blue cloth with dark scarlet. Nate looked sideways at John, a stifled grin tormenting the corners of his lips.

"Just as bad, huh? We'll see about that."

* * *

**A/N** : Nate hates it when others take it upon themselves to be a "hero" when they aren't invincible like Superman. But when he does it, he blames it on his instincts. What a great guy.


End file.
